Harry Potter and the Crystals of Atlantis
by Firelord Lionheart
Summary: Dumbledore's dead and the enemy's forces are growing to massive number. In the wake of this threat, Harry and his friends set out to defeat Voldemort once and for all. Meanwhile, the Wizarding and muggle worlds are forced to reunite to combat the enemy.
1. Lord Voldemort's Assault

A/N: This is an idea that I've been fumbling with since the release of Half-Blood Prince; an AU second war fic. It would've even been considered AU at the time because it deviates from JK Rowling's canon when it comes to the some technical details. Excellence is the name of my game here, so I ask you to nitpick the hell out of this. Oh, and I know Grindelwald's given name is Gellert in Deathly Hallows, but this was started before DH.

Disclaimer because of that fraction of a chance of facing a lawsuit: The Harry Potter universe belongs solely to JK Rowling. Other stuff has been influenced by history, mythology, and other things that will be cited as needed. The plot and original characters and locations are mine.

**Book One: Fragments of a Mutilated Soul**

Chapter One: Lord Voldemort's Assault

Havenwood Manor was a centuries-old estate hidden far away from the town of Pilkington, Gloucestershire. Located in a vast forest, it once offered the Squires who had resided there during the Victorian and Edwardian eras the privacy that they sought. Now the manor was merely a relic of a decadent past. The family that once reveled in the wealth that the manor had brought was long dead and the house fell into decay. Rumor spread throughout that small town that the old place was haunted since the days following World War I because of a dissatisfied butler having to deal with his late master's son working him like a slave because all the other servants either resigned or were killed in the war.

One night, his new master held a party and the butler had to endure a serious berating about how the food was overcooked. Towards the end of the night, he grabbed his trusty and secretly well-used Enfield revolver. Then he proceeded to kill his masters and their equally posh and arrogant guests. In an attempt to cover up his crime, he tried to set the house on fire, but was stopped by the police.

No one had ever come to buy the estate, so it was allowed to just fall victim to burglars and the decay of time. However, in the two recent years, there have been reports of strange activity in old Havenwood. Idiotic trespassers would call on the place to steal whatever valuables were left, and they would never return from the house. Sometimes, hikers would notice light in the distant manor behind the fence and smoke rising from the chimney.

The strangest reports of all were sightings of figures in black cloaks and masks loitering on the property. The description of these cloaked figures matched that of the so-called Death Eaters, the ones responsible for the terrorist attacks that have started out in the UK two summers ago, then spread throughout Continental Europe in late 1996, and then to America the following winter.

The residents of Pilkington did not even usually concern themselves with the politics of the rest of the country, let alone the world, but these incidences were just too weird to ignore. The patrons of the Happy Hog Inn, who would usually be enjoying a rugby or football game, were intently watching the news on the telly. There had been another attack, this time on the Duddeston Station in Birmingham, and Conrad Gordon, the new Prime Minister was giving a speech with empty assurances that the ones responsible would be caught.

"Wos'at tosser sayin' them Deff Eaters are, Willy?" a frequent visitor from London asked. He regularly visited Pilkington, and as soon as he would have enough money, he would move away from the city. London was just too expensive to live in. Willy the elderly landlord paused the cleaning of his mugs and placed his tongue on the inside of his cheek in thought.

"He made them out to be some kind of cross between a Satanist cult and a Neo-Nazi movement." Politics would usually be last subject of discussion. The patrons would usually talk about life's weekly struggles, problems with their spouses, or their day at work. The biggest subject of discussion was sports. They would come to celebrate the victory of their favorite football or rugby teams, or wallow in their defeat.

"Load o' bollocks if ye ask me," the Londoner grunted and took a drink of his whiskey. "There's somefink Gordon's hidin'. Jest 'oo's this 'Dark Lord' geezer they keep swearin' loyalty to anyway?" In some of these attacks, the Death Eaters would allegedly cry out something showing their loyalty to their mysterious leader who fancied himself as the Dark Lord.

One of the other patrons, a new biology teacher at the local secondary school, had turned to him. "Whoever he is, mate, he bloody well knows what he's doing. That attack on those three planes in Manchester… government tried passing them off as poor runway conditions. I think that's when they started to openly claim responsibility. Now even the Yanks are at loss of what to do. They bombed the fucking Lincoln Tunnel in heavy traffic! If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was those Muslim nutters, but this cult or whatever it is, is something completely different." Willy nodded, making an incoherent noise of acknowledgement as he refilled the customers' mugs.

"Reminds me of all those mysterious 'accidents' about twenty years ago. People are dying left, right, and center; and Gordon tries to pass these attacks off as accidents?" This was the first time the locals had ever seen Willy lose his temper like that. "Our options here are quite simple: either someone has declared war on us and they don't want to admit we're losing, or Gordon's ordering the attacks himself, and is secretly waiting for the right opportunity to establish some tin-pot dictatorship. Never did trust that-"

"'He can't be trying to establish a dictatorship, Will," a customer from a billiard table countered. "If Gordon's trying to seize emergency power, then how do you explain the attacks in the other countries? Still wouldn't fancy our chances as long as that idiot's in charge. From what I hear, the entire world's gone to Hell..."

"Now, now, my dear foolish Muggles, he really had no choice in the matter," said a chillingly calm and aristocratic voice. Three strangely dressed people sat together in the corner of the bar watching the whole conversation with amusement. One was a man in his forties with a thickset build, and a sickly thin face. Another was thin man with a high forehead, black hair and a triangular goatee, giving the landlord the impression of a vampire. His swishy black robes and pale face further enhanced the 'vampire' image. The last one was an imposing woman with a gaunt face and heavily lidded eyes. In her prime, she would have been very good-looking, but despite her looks, she had a forbidding air about her, almost like a wicked witch out of a fairy tale.

"Your Prime Minister knows exactly who we are, but you Muggles would never believe him if he told you the truth."

"Who the hell are you?" Willy demanded, and he wanted to ask what a 'Muggle' was. The thickset man sneered as he and his companions drew themselves off their chairs to their full height. "Oh my God, you're…" It was then that Willy recognized the man with the high forehead and the woman as Antonin Dolohov and Bellatrix Lestrange respectively. Both of which were high-ranking Death Eaters responsible for some of the most grisly murders since the attacks began. Bellatrix in particular was considered one of the most dangerous. Every law enforcement agency in the country was after them, and here they were in his pub without any fear.

"Travers at your service," the thickset man bowed mockingly and procured what looked like a magic wand from his pocket. The other two copied that motion, and the patrons sat there, all having half a mind to run away. One man actually did make a run towards the door, but the dark haired woman raised her wand, pointing it at the retreating customer's back.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Once she spoke these strange words, a flash of green light temporarily blinded the patrons. Once everything was clear, screams of horror erupted in the bar. The man lay on the dusty floor unmarked, but certainly dead. Chaos took over the pub as the customers scrambled to get out, but the Death Eaters would not allow it. Dolohov aimed his wand at a rather old, bent man.

"_Crucio_!"

The old man slumped onto the floor shrieking, and the Londoner noticed to his horror, that his face was contorted in pain. The Londoner was instantly on his feet, running towards the Death Eaters, and grabbing the handle of his knife. "LEAVE 'IM ALONE!" The weapon was drawn in a swift movement of his hand and he slashed the blade across Dolohov's face, nearly puncturing his left eye. The Death Eater winced and inspected the bleeding gash with his hand, gazing at the crimson liquid dripping on it for a moment, as though he had never seen anything more beautiful.

Just as the Londoner was about to resume his assault with a lethal strike, Dolohov raised his wand, muttering something under his breath. Before the Londoner could make heads or tails of what was happening, he felt as though a powerful fist had slammed into his solar plexus, sending him crashing into a table, knocking it and the drinks over. The patrons at that table jumped onto their feet to try to fight the Death Eaters off, but then, two of the men sitting at the bar were on their feet as well. The teacher brandished a wand, and a black man in a leather jacket reached in and drew a pistol from inside the jacket.

"Halt where you are!" barked the teacher and the man with the gun ordered the other patrons to retreat. As they scrambled to escape, a knowing smirk spread across Travers' face.

"So you're an undercover Auror, eh, mate? What's your name?"

"McCormick," he responded shortly.

Bellatrix shot him a sneer at the mention of his name. "I've not heard of your surname! Your father would be a Muggle, then?" McCormick turned his wand on her.

"That's beside the point! Once the Ministry gets through with you, I promise you lot will rot in Azkaban for the rest of your lives!"

"Oh," Dolohov said dismissively. "A Mudblood, then?"

Hearing enough, the man with the gun stepped forward. "Drop your weapons or I'll shoot!" he said, flashing a badge at the Death Eaters. Fifteen years as a constable, and this was the first time he was forced to carry that hateful weapon. All the police in the UK were now required to carry guns, even those who had gone thirty years without one. "You have three seconds!" However, Dolohov made a swiping movement with his wand, resulting in a loud crack from above McCormick and the constable. A beam was about to fall on them, and it took the reflexes born out of both men's intense training to avoid being crushed.

The constable slid backwards on his rear and squeezed the trigger as McCormick cried, "_STUPEFY_!" The jet of red light, which was intended for Bellatrix, was easily deflected with a casual wave of her wand. The constable's bullet only hit the back of one of the chairs. Dolohov and Travers both shot off Killing Curses at their foes that were not intended to strike and they certainly did not let them.

McCormick magically launched one long table at the Death Eaters, throwing them off their feet. "RUN!" roared the Auror, evading another spell, which struck the bar, setting it in flames. "I'll hold them off!" Astounded as he was to learn of the paranormal nature of the Death Eaters, he had his codes to follow and they did not include running away while an ally was in danger. He responded by giving McCormick a signal with a jerk of his head. "_Reducto_!" His wand was aimed at a beam supporting the ceiling above the Death Eaters, causing it to split and plunge down, and nearly crushing them.

Travers' reaction was quick. He levitated the rafters safely away, no longer sneering at them. The constable, who had managed to relocate himself further away from Death Eaters watched as they and McCormick were locked in a fierce duel where blinding spells were thrown at one another. It was then that he had come to the realization that these were – was it possible – wizards!

Cocking his gun, he took aim at Travers and fired. The round had hit him squarely in the neck, and he slumped to the floor in a puddle of his own blood never to rise again. The other two Death Eaters sprang around to the constable. Dolohov made a furious move towards him, looking more deranged than ever with blood streaming down the side of his face. "You filthy Mug-"

The constable fired at the Death Eater's rib before Dolohov could finish, making him clutch the wound and groan in pain. "Let's go, Bellatrix!" barked Dolohov, righting himself. "The Dark Lord's waiting for us!" The woman looked like she was going to refuse, but they both vanished into thin air, making the constable jump in surprise.

Both he and the Auror holstered their weapons and held each other's gazes for several long moments until McCormick finally broke the silence. "Thanks for your help. I don't think I'd be able to hold them off alone." He sighed heavily, muttering mostly to himself, "There's going to be a lot of paperwork to deal with once I report this to Chief Robards." He held out his right hand and the constable shook it. "Brian McCormick. Intelligence Operations Specialist, Her Majesty's Aurors."

"Ben Jenkins," said the constable. "Police."

"Guess your precinct also received reports of Death Eater activity here," said McCormick. "I must report to London immediately. If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is here, it's only a matter of time before he retaliates! He won't take the loss of one of his lieutenants to a Muggle so lightly. I say it's only a matter of time before the Wizarding world's revealed." He added the last sentence sarcastically, but Ben didn't know what to make of it.

"What are you-"

"No time to explain, go back to your headquarters and tell them what happened!"

* * *

><p>While the exterior of Havenwood Manor was falling quickly into decay, the interior was refurbished into a temporary base of operations for the Dark Lord. Lord Voldemort sat there in the drawing room, his gaunt, skull-white face illuminated by the candlelight as he absentmindedly twirled his wand in his hand. An enormous snake lay coiled at his feet while his servant, Wormtail, paced the floor in front of the unlit fireplace. Voldemort would give them one more minute to return, and then he would have to summon them by force.<p>

After a few moments, Voldemort turned to his servant and stated, "It seems that our entourage has arrived. Go welcome them and bring them all here."

"Y-Yes, my lord," Wormtail affirmed and set out of the drawing room. Voldemort could only hope for a certain group of Death Eaters' sakes that they had been successful, otherwise, he would be set back a long way. If they had failed, then he would not be able to carry out the plan he had been devising for the last year.

The dozens of Death Eaters soon started filing into the drawing room, and Voldemort arose from his armchair, scarlet eyes narrowing in disapproval. "You are all very nearly late," he hissed. "Take your places at once." Without word or preamble, each cloaked figure took his or her spot in a semicircle around their leader. "Where are Bellatrix, Travers, and Dolohov?"

Just then, the disheveled figures of two of the aforementioned Death Eaters stumbled into the room. Dolohov, Voldemort noted, was bleeding from his side and Bellatrix seemed out of breath. "Where is Travers?" he asked them coldly, paying no heed to his servant's wound.

"Dead, my lord," replied Dolohov. "We…err…got a bit carried away at the inn. There was an Auror and Muggle policeman there." Voldemort aimed his wand at the bleeding wound.

"_Accio_!"

Dolohov screamed in agony as the bullet forcefully expelled itself from his body and flew to the Dark Lord's large, pale, long-fingered hand. "A bullet, Dolohov?" He furiously threw the small metal projectile to the floor, and turned his wand upon the wounded Death Eater again. "You, a Dark wizard who has powers that the Aurors or Dumbledore's lot could only dream of, was nearly finished by a Muggle weapon?" Nobody laughed. There was no mistaking the disgust in Voldemort's voice. "_Crucio_!"

At length, he lifted the curse and began to address the others, while Dolohov was recuperating. "Well, you have had two hours, you'd better have results!" He surveyed the Death Eaters: who would go first? "Severus?"

He spoke to a tall, sallow-faced man with a hooked nose, greasy black hair, and dark eyes. "He is dead, my lord," Severus Snape said. Draco Malfoy, the boy next to him, refused to meet the Dark Lord's gaze, and his master knew that he had not done the job. Snape was the one to do it.

He was dead. That was all that Voldemort needed to hear. Albus Dumbledore, the only one that he could truly call an equal, the only one holding him back from achieving his ultimate ambition was nothing more than a rotting piece of meat. It did not matter in the long run who had killed him; all that mattered was that Dumbledore would no longer hinder him. Now that that hindrance was eliminated, there was no time like the present to take the initiative!

"Everyone," Voldemort began, grasping his wand tighter. "Now that that Muggle-loving fool is dead, it is time to act. Even now, our forces are growing all over the world, and we are to redouble our efforts and recruit as many as possible. Several prominent Death Eaters are now in Azkaban, and we will release them from the Ministry's clutches. Not only that… Azkaban currently holds over eight thousand prisoners within its walls, and they will all join me or die! However, there is one in particular that I am determined to have joining me. Somebody whom Dumbledore had spared because he was too weak…this will be a fatal mistake.

"I hope that those of you who attacked Hogwarts realize that this was only a preliminary encounter. The true beginning of our cause lies before us! Once this is done, we are going to take our war to a whole new level! We set out tomorrow night!"

A collective war cry resounded in the enormous drawing room, and once it had died, Voldemort glared at Draco Malfoy, who was no longer afraid. There was nothing but a fierce determination in his gray eyes. "Lord Voldemort will consider the treatment that you and your family will receive based on how you perform in the coming battle. If you prove yourself a worthy servant, you will be rewarded beyond your dreams. However, if you display the same amount of weakness that you have shown earlier on top of the Astronomy tower, you will die. Is this clear?"

"Yes, master," said Draco firmly. "I won't fail you again. What of Potter, my Lord? Are you still going to go after him?" Voldemort's thin, lipless mouth curled at the mention of the name.

"If I know Harry Potter, he will be the one looking for _me_ now. He undoubtedly wants revenge for his dear mentor. However, he will not find me until I wish him to. Then, when the moment is right, the Boy-Who-Lived will just become another passing page in history."

The next evening, Lord Voldemort led his followers, no, his soldiers from the mansion, and forward to war. After this night, everything would change. For the Wizarding world, the Muggle world, and unbeknownst to the Death Eaters, for themselves as well.

* * *

><p>Not very far from Britain, on a small island in the North Sea, stood the mighty Fortress of Azkaban. This prison had seen hundreds of years of history. It was built in 1479 under the rule of Chief Warlock Gaius Camillus and the Wizard's Council to house dissenters and their families. This was a perfect way for him to keep the Wizarding community under his control. Thousands of witches and wizards had been executed there, the most famous being Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington and Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore who had commanded a band of revolutionaries against Camillus' regime from April to October of 1492. Porpington and Podmore were two of many rebels to face the brutal mass beheadings that took place there every day. Some say both men had returned as ghosts in defiance of Camillus.<p>

A few years later, the Dark Wizard Gorhaf overthrew the government, and the executions were abolished. A much more terrible and effective way to keep Wizarding Britain in order was introduced for those not killed in the purges. Under Gorhaf's rule, Dementors had replaced the prison guards. These demonic wraiths would entrap the unfortunate souls imprisoned there within their own misery. Another way that the enemies of the new regime were destroyed was by the Dementor's kiss, a weapon that would send the victim to a fate much worse than death. It was the fate that had awaited Gorhaf after his deposition at the hands of the resistance. With the fall of the Dark Wizard's tyranny, the Wizard's Council was reestablished with major reforms, resulting in Gaius Camillus and his henchmen being arrested, tried, and ordered to receive the kiss for their crimes against the people.

Even with the establishment of the Ministry of Magic in the seventeenth century, Azkaban was the last remnant of a dark past used to punish offenders. In Lord Voldemort's first rise to power, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch tried to emulate Gaius Camillus by sending hundreds to this place. A number of the detainees were sent there without a trial or any proof whatsoever of them being involved with the Death Eaters. The dementor's kiss was performed there on multiple occasions under Crouch's jurisdiction.

Azkaban retained its terrible reputation under Cornelius Fudge's Ministry, but had seen hardly any new prisoners, aside from petty criminals. Even in his final year in office, when he was swiftly marching down the path to dictatorship, not too many were sent to the dementors. It was all thanks to Fudge that the dementors had abandoned the prison to join Lord Voldemort, who was now using them for whatever sick ambitions he had. It was also thanks to Fudge and his desire to cling to power that some of the most dangerous of Voldemort's supporters had escaped.

Now, under Rufus Scrimgeour, there were two guards for every ten inmates, plus the Governor, the tower guards, and emergency defense units. These were wizards highly trained in combat with orders to strike first and ask questions later. The guard in tower three thought over this prison's dark and terrible history. From his post, he could see the spot where Nearly-Headless Nick had met his untimely doom at Wizard Council's hands. It wasn't until starting to work in this hellish place that he had grasped the seriousness of what had happened to the man who'd become the ghost he had befriended during his years at Hogwarts.

The guard wondered how Azkaban and the world would change once He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would be defeated; or rather _if _he would be defeated. If Professor Dumbledore, the man who defeated the Butcher of Europe, Reichsmarchall Reinhard Grindelwald, had not been able to stop You-Know-Who, then who could?

Albus Dumbledore had been murdered the day before, so who could stop You-Know-Who now; A mere teenage boy who had survived several attempts on his life by mere luck and unexplainable circumstances? He was just a boy who probably wanted a normal life and would eventually go mad from how much the _Daily Prophet_ – or _Daily Pravda_ as the guard liked to call it – was talking about him. Not to mention Harry had the burden of having that psychotic bastard wanting to do him in.

"Bollocks," the guard scoffed. However, the guard knew to be careful not to express his cynical view on Harry Potter. Most of the Wizarding world saw him as the world's only hope for peace.

Shaking his head, the guard absentmindedly puffed on his cigarette. He gazed at the main building of the enormous prison, where the lights in the windows faded. If he could name one good thing about this wretched island, it was the night. Nights here were quiet, which was why he chose to take that shift. However, tonight was eerily quiet. Maybe it was just him, but the guard was starting to get very bad vibes.

No, this was not from inside the walls; his bad feeling was coming from the outside. The guard brandished his wand and hissed, "_Lumos_!" He pointed it over the wall like a searchlight and his heart froze. Over the horizon, approaching the island at top speed, were dozens of boats. One did not have to be a genius to know what was going on. The guard immediately sent a red flare into the air, and the alarm sounded throughout the fortress.

"Attention all personnel," the governor's magically magnified voice announced. "We are going to red alert! Death Eaters are approaching the south wall by amphibious assault! All defense units report to your emergency stations immediately. All guards prepare to defend the interior. Lethal force is authorized on any escapee who refuses to surrender!"

The prison came to life instantly. The torches were lit, and there was an incoherent cacophony of voices. Within minutes, the green-clad emergency defense squad charged into courtyard by the gate and on the wall. The guards in towers two and four joined the guards on the wall. The one in tower three aimed his illuminated wand down at the approaching boats, and he spotted the many cloaked figures.

"Dim the torches!" ordered the defense unit commander, Major O'Keefe. The prison was once again pitched black. The guards simply waited for the enemy to arrive within their firing range. The boats were approaching, and the fear the guard in tower three felt was slowly dissipating. He tightened the grip on his wand, stretching out his arm further. The Death Eaters were only a few meters away, so why were the guards not attacking yet? On cue, Major O'Keefe's order came.

"COMMENCE FIRE!"

A myriad of curses and hexes hit home as they drew closer to the shore. The guard made a violent slashing movement with his wand, emitting a sheet of flame. Several boats caught fire, forcing the Death Eaters to abandon their vessels to swim to their target. One of the ones who had made it to the shore cried, "_Confringo_!" An explosion rocked the island as a huge chunk of the wall crumbled into to dust, sending several guards flying off the wall.

A jet of green light zoomed past the tower guard's head as he made to join his comrades on the main wall. "How about a little of _this_?" he fired several Killing Curses wildly. Dark Magic or not, there was a theory that he lived by concerning the enemy. In order to defeat them, you eliminate as many of them as possible. "_Fluguris_!" His wand vibrated as a rod of lightning emitted from his wand in an upward slant rising hundreds of feet in the air and then split into ten separate rods, descending at bullet-speed, encompassing several Death Eaters in a powerful electric wave.

He was going to launch another spell, but to his horror, the tower shuddered violently and crumbled beneath the guard's feet. He fell for what seemed like hours. The last thing he ever saw was tower one meeting a similar fate and the stone shrapnel crushing his skull. The guard was dead before he had even hit the ground.


	2. The London Summit

A/N: If the Prime Minister can be fictional, so can the royals (in 1996, the PM was supposed to be John Major in the real world, but the PM in HBP referred to his predecessor as a he whereas John Major's predecessor was Margaret Thatcher). The members of the House of Carrington belong to me but are very loosely based on the House of Windsor.

Chapter Two: The London Summit

Queen Mary III and her consort, Prince Edward, Duke of Edinburgh sat in their private suite in Buckingham Palace watching BBC on their television. It had been quite a year for her and the Prime Minister what with all the terror attacks by the Death Eaters. What made it worse was that only she, Conrad Gordon, and their fellow heads of state and government knew the true identity of this enemy. It was keeping her up at night, and at her age, it was beginning to take a toll on her. "Well preserved" indeed, she thought disdainfully at the epithet that people were labeling her with.

A fortnight ago, the Queen had been out in the gardens with one of her dogs on break when her secretary came running to her out of breath. "Your Majesty!" she panted. Before the Queen could ask why her secretary had been running through the palace corridors, she gave the bad news. "It's the Prime Minister, ma'am. He wants to speak to you right away." Knowing this could not be good, the Queen followed the secretary to her office.

"Prime Minister, what is it?" she inquired when she took the phone.

"It's bad, your Majesty," the Prime Minister responded in a tone that he was trying to keep even and dignified. "Rufus Scrimgeour's just been to see me. There's been another attack."

"Where?" the Queen demanded, clutching the phone tightly.

"Azkaban…" Her heart skipped a beat. There was once a happier time in her youth where she did not know about the darker aspects of the Wizarding world. This was when she was a little girl and her father, the late King Richard IV, would tell her fascinating stories of a secret world of magic where there lived wizards, witches, and most of all, magical creatures that most non-magical folk believed to exist only in fairy tales like unicorns and dragons. Not even twenty years after her coronation in 1952, she was visited by the Minister of Magic who told her that the Wizarding world was in a state of war with a Dark Wizard whose name he refused to say and refused to let her say. Instead, he chose to write it down: "Voldemort".

As the years went on, the Queen learned that Wizarding Britain had its own prison on an island in the North Sea called Azkaban. It was guarded by terrible creatures known as dementors. Until 1993, it was said to have been inescapable. Over the years, she had learned otherwise. Sirius Black, a wrongfully accused convict had escaped and in 1995, there had been a mass breakout of highly dangerous Death Eaters.

"Your Majesty, they've broken out all the prisoners," the Prime Minister said, stating the obvious, but she knew something worse was going on here.

"Prime Minister, I can tell this isn't the only reason you're phoning me. Please tell me everything." She heard Gordon sigh heavily on the other side phone.

"Scrimgeour says they've broken out a particularly dangerous wizard. 'Grimwald', I think his name is. Something Germa-"

"_Grindelwald_?" the Queen exclaimed, springing to her feet. "Reinhard Grindelwald?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Prime Minister, tell me again," she responded slowly. "Voldemort has recruited Reinhard Grindelwald?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"The same Grindelwald who was Hitler's extension into the Wizarding world…and the brains behind almost his whole operation?"

A few silent seconds followed before Gordon said, "Yes, your Majesty."

It could not be. Other than Voldemort himself, there was no man more dangerous than Reinhard Grindelwald. He was the man who formed the Axis Forces and supplied them with massive amounts of weaponry and equipment. The Queen's father often said that Grindelwald had all the cunning manipulative skills of a diplomat and all the ruthlessness and cruelty of a medieval warlord. If he had joined Voldemort, then Britain had little time left. "Now see here, Conrad Gordon. You are the Prime Minister. You were elected on a campaign promising more proactive measures against the enemy. You cannot just sit there and watch our people dying by the hour while Parliament discusses these crises in a committee, you must do something now!"

"Your Majesty," he shot back, clearly affronted. "I have called for an emergency session of Parliament and also phoned all our allies, diplomatic partners, and even some we consider enemies. I wish to hold a summit of the Wizarding and non-magical worlds. Downing Street has been locked down; nobody but its residents are getting through the enchantments there. We need to hold the summit in one of your Majesty's residences."

"Very well, Prime Minister." Her elderly voice was dignified again. "You may use Kensington Palace." As soon as the Queen placed the phone back in the receiver, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that war was inevitable. Indeed, after a heated session of Parliament with many insults and shouts thrown around, the Prime Minister had called for a vote on whether or not this convention should take place and the "Ayes" vastly outnumbered the "Nays."

Within a two weeks, the non-magical and Wizarding leaders from the European Union nations, the Commonwealth, the United States, Russia, South Korea, and several other countries would be making their way to home of her grandchildren and children of her son and heir, Prince Henry. It would be there where the decision to bring open war upon the world would be made. Taking one last drink of her tea, the Queen set the cup down on the table and rose to her feet.

"Mary, dear," the Prince said. "You need rest. You've been working non-stop for weeks." She lifted up a reassuring hand. "I need air, Edward. I shall return in less than an hour. You go to bed." Truth be told, her husband looked rather weary as well. There were dark circles under his eyes and it seemed age had finally caught up with him. The Queen did not return to bed that night. All that she could think about as she sat on a comfortable chair on a veranda overlooking the palace garden was the upcoming convention at her grandson's home, what decisions were going to be made, and most of all the inevitable war with Lord Voldemort's legions and what it would mean for both the magical and non-magical worlds.

* * *

><p>The foreign dignitaries; fifty leaders with their Ministers and Secretaries of Magic filed into the palace the morning after their arrival. It wasn't everyone that the Prime Minister had wished for, but it was more than enough. There was no time for pleasantries or public appearances, these men and women were in Britain for a very serious matter. Usually, young Prince Andrew and his younger sister, Princess Alice would host a meal, but all these politicians had already ate and wanted to get this meeting underway. In fact, the only time the Prince and Princess showed up at all was to greet them but would not sit in on the meeting, keeping true to their family's purely ceremonial and representational roles. The politicians were seated at the long table in the grand dining room of Kensington Palace. Conrad Gordon sat in between the President of the United States and Rufus Scrimgeour. Across from him sat the President of South Africa.<p>

Standing up to indicate that he was going to speak, the chatter in the room died down immediately. "Your Majesties and Highnesses," he began and the two Kings and two Emirs acknowledged the greeting. "Honorable Prime Ministers, Chancellors, and Presidents," There were mixed reactions ranging from smiles, to waves, to curt nods. "And honorable representatives of the Wizarding world," The wizards and witches smiled politely. "I would like to thank you all for coming here on such short notice."

"Pleasure as always, Mr. Gordon," the Prime Minister of Australia replied.

"At least we didn't have to fly," the Chancellor of Germany commented and there were a few laughs.

"Very convenient, this Floo Powder thing," said the Prime Minister of Norway. "But I do prefer the air."

"Not me," the President of the United States replied. "Better to just walk through the fireplace." The President of China grinned and nodded in agreement. He'd usually have to fly eleven hours to get to London. The greetings went on until Rufus Scrimgeour cleared his throat. Gordon turned to him in embarrassment.

"Right..." he said, straightening his suit. "Now, our long time allies, diplomatic partners, and those of us who put our differences aside," the Iranian President nodded curtly and the North Korean Leader seemed as though he was struggling not to roll his eyes. "We are gathered here in London today united by a single threat and with the same interests at heart. We wish to protect our people from the harm that this enemy will surely bring to us all." The Prime Minister sat down. "Intelligence says that our enemy's forces are growing in rapid speed with both manpower and equipment."

"Our sources say that he's been recruiting Muggles into their ranks," stated the Canadian Minister of Magic.

"You can't be serious," said the President of Russia with a frown. "I thought Voldemort," several of the wizards flinched, "hated us."

"He does, Mr. President," the German Minister of Magic replied grimly. "But Reinhard Grindelwald has never underestimated the power of the Muggle world. You are far greater in number than the wizards could hope to be."

"Tell me about it," said the American Secretary of Magic coldly. "We have word that the enemy has been joined by the Crimson Dragon. He's pledged his support for Voldemort and is supplying him with all his followers and weapons."

Many of the Muggle dignitaries in the room went silent. The so-called Crimson Dragon was the head of a dangerous terror organization in the Far East called 'The Restoration', a cell organization devoted to restoring the continent to its former glory before the West put its influence upon it.

The President of Vietnam lowered his head in disgust. "His name is Nguyen Thanh An. We should not do him the honor of not referring to him by his name. I served with him in the American War. He is a man without a conscience or any sense of remorse. The things I have seen him do to civilians in our southern villages...the cruelty was unreal. But he inspired pride in our country and culture and nothing but contempt for the West at the time. He always spoke about one day restoring Vietnam to its former glory before the West corrupted it."

"Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" muttered the Australian Minister of Magic.

"Many Dark wizards had a similar ideology about our world," the Dutch Minister of Magic explained to the Muggles.

"Actually," the Dutch Prime Minister replied folding his hands, "many _extremists_ have an ideology like this.

"After the Americans withdrew," the President of Vietnam continued, "the government exiled Nguyen because his ideology included anti-communist sentiments. We would usually have had him shot but he came from a very old and prestigious family. It was a big mistake on our part to let him go and now he's out there influencing people from all over the continent to his cause."

"It's not your fault, Mr. President," said the Israeli Prime Minister. "Nguyen is just one of our problems. Our own Wizarding intelligence found out that several Islamic fundamentalist groups have joined Voldemort as well."

"How dare you suggest we'd join this heathen?" the Iranian President snapped. "Blame the Muslims without evidence, wouldn't expect anything less from Zionist scum!"

"I'm not blaming you or the Muslims, Mr. President, nor was I suggesting you joined him. Whether you believe it or not, he has been joined by quite a few terrorist organizations including al-Hasaab. Amir bin Kareem has pledged his support to Voldemort."

"That's enough!" barked Gordon, his eyes flashing in anger. "Do I need to remind you both that we're here to put our differences aside to counter a threat to all our countries?" Both men muttered an apology.

"It's not just those with anti-Western sentiments, ladies and gentlemen," the Prime Minister of Canada said. "You've got extremists of all kinds joining Vol…sorry, You-Know-Who. Aryans are joining him…hell, I have never seen anything more similar to Hitler than this man's ideology. And you have all these other radicals and supremacy groups and their supporters. How he got all these extremists to put aside their differences, let alone fight alongside each other is beyond me."

The German Minister of Magic spoke again. "This brings us back to another one of our problems; Reinhard Grindelwald. There is no better emissary to use to convince people to join He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Rufus Scrimgeour finally spoke. "We have reason to believe that You-Know-Who has recruited Grindelwald as more than just a diplomat and military leader. No, he wants him for something completely different. Grindelwald is supplying his forces with the lost technology of Atlantis." Several politicians laughed at this, whereas the wizards and witches all sat with defeated expressions. "Yes?" Scrimgeour said curtly.

"Atlantis is just a myth, isn't it?" asked the President of Pakistan.

"It's not a myth, Mr. President!" snapped Scrimgeour with such finality that no one dared to question it further. "This is highly destructive weaponry, some of which would make your long-range nukes seem like average bombs, and Grindelwald had put most of his adult life into researching this technology."

They all sat there silently for several long moments. It was clear what the British were asking them to do. They were asking the world to break the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy that has been in place for hundreds of years. The only other time it had been broken was in World War II when both worlds were affected by the conflict. One could only imagine what it took to modify all those memories. However, this was to be a permanent breaking of the Statute. Not only that, they were also asking them to commit their militaries to war. Several of these countries were dealing with conflicts elsewhere in the world, and none of them were up to sacrificing their troops to a war where the enemy had no clear goal. All the attacks thus far had been random acts of terror, but now with Muggles on his side, who knew what was going to happen?

"We have no other alternative," said Gordon turning his head to look at the guests. "We must go to war. We must call for a draft and build our forces before the enemy outnumbers us with theirs."

"'Ow will our people even believe us?" inquired the President of France. "We will 'ave to reveal ze Magical World to zem. 'Ow do we do zis?"

The French Minister of Magic responded something to her President in French. From the little he could remember, Gordon figured that they would have a wizard or witch perform real magic on live television when each head of government would reveal the Wizarding world. She also suggested that both wizards and Muggles be educated on each other's culture and way of life.

"Japan has not sent a single soldier outside its borders since our defeat in World War II," the Japanese Prime Minister said quietly. "Forget about the Statute of Secrecy, we would be violating our own laws by getting involved in a foreign war." His Minister of Magic nodded in agreement.

"Well, if you join this alliance, Mr. Shiretoko," the Chinese Minister of Magic countered evenly, "you will have redeemed your country of its past." The Japanese Prime Minister struggled to keep himself from making an angry response, so he simply replied, "The Diet of Japan will have to vote on this and then we must hold a referendum among the people. You can guarantee a safe haven in our country and you may use our lands for bases, but we need a vote if we are to amend our Constitution."

"Well, the Republic of Korea will do whatever it takes to help," the President of South Korea assured everyone firmly.

"You sure as hell can count on the US, Conrad," assured the President of the United States.

"And Russia." added the Russian President.

"And France."

"I believe the whole Commonwealth will stand with Britain and her allies," stated the Prime Minister of Australia. "But you can bloody well guarantee Australia's help." The other Commonwealth leaders nodded in agreement.

"I never thought my country would face a war under my administration," the Prime Minister of Spain sighed in defeat. "But there is no choice. I will speak to the Cortes Generales and urge them to approve a conscription."

"Sweden is a neutral country and it's going to stay that way," said the Swedish Prime Minister. "But you can assure a safe haven for refugees and you may use our hospitals and resources."

"That goes for Austria too," the Austrian Chancellor added.

Gordon nodded, knowing that some countries' politics wouldn't change so easily. "Right, we must now decide who will or will not join our alliance."

"We will need time to rebuild our magical forces," Scrimgeour revealed.

"What?"

"When the Cold War started," the Italian Minister of Magic explained, "The Ministries of Magic in Europe decided to disband their Mage forces and not get involved in a Muggle conflict ever again. That was a mistake."

"Yes, I daresay it was, Mr. Napolitano!" Gordon responded in a harsher voice than he had intended.

"Anyway," Scrimgeour spoke again. "It will take us time to rebuild the Royal Mages."

"How much time?"

"Within a few months, we'll have a decent sized force, Prime Minister. However, it will take at least a year for us to have a fully organized, well-equipped military branch. Once we do, it will fall under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Defense."

The Prime Minister nodded and asked, "Anyone have anything else to say?" Nobody spoke. They were all clear on what must be done. "Very well, ladies and gentlemen. You will each be passed a piece of paper and will state whether or not you will be part of our allied forces to defeat this threat once and for all. I apologize again for the short notice, but as you can plainly see, the situation is dire."

The politicians were all served with papers by the Prime Minister's staff with a single question. It took them less than half an hour to consider what they were signing to and the results were handed to Gordon.

**Alliance of Free Nations Against the Legions of Darkness**

**Yes: **United_ Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, United States of America, Russian Federation, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Kingdom of Spain, French Republic, Italian Republic, Federal Republic of Germany, Kingdom of Belgium, Hellenic Republic (Greece), the Netherlands, People's Republic of China, Republic of Korea, Socialist Republic of Vietnam, Republic of China (Taiwan), State of Israel, Kingdom of Jordan, Republic of South Africa, State of Qatar (supplies and funds only), State of Kuwait (supplies and funds only), Republic of Turkey, Arab Republic of Egypt, Republic of Syria, __Lebanese Republic__, Republic of India, Islamic Republic of Pakistan, Republic of Indonesia, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, Republic of Poland, Kingdom of Norway, Republic of Albania, Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Argentine Republic  
><em>

** No (lands may still be used by Allies for bases and hospitals): **_Republic of the Philippines, United Mexican States, Swiss Confederation, Republic of Austria, Republic of Finland, Kingdom of Sweden, Kingdom of Denmark, Republic of Ireland, Republic of Colombia_

**Abstaining: **_Japan (pending vote of Diet)__, Palestinian Authority, __Union of Myanmar, __Democratic People's Republic of Korea, __Republic of Iraq, Islamic Republic of Iran_

After the foreign dignitaries began to file out of the palace, Conrad Gordon and Rufus Scrimgeour walked down its corridors. "I'm surprised, Minister. You never seemed the type to view us non-magic folk as equals, if I may be so bold."

Normally, the Minister of Magic would get angry at such an accusation. He was short and to the point with everyone he spoke to, but he could understand the Prime Minister's misinterpretation, considering the patronizing way that idiot, Fudge treated Muggles. "You're not accusing me of the right thing, Prime Minister, and it will take me too long to enlighten you on the subject. However, let us just say that the Ministry and I had a very rude awakening with the fall of Azkaban. It reminded me exactly with whom we're dealing and where the Wizarding community went wrong over the years."

"I have to call for another emergency session of Parliament. I require one of your representatives to accompany me and reveal the Wizarding world to them. There I will make a motion to declare war. I'm asking you, Minister, to inform Her Majesty of our decision."

Scrimgeour nodded with a slight smile. "Very well, I shall send Arthur Weasley to your office the day of the meeting. In the meantime, I must arrange for tighter security of the Queen and her family." The two men shook hands and went their separate ways. As Conrad Gordon was driven back to Downing Street, he marveled on how the next few days were going to be very interesting indeed.

A/N: Yes, those who voted to abstain, aside from Japan, are or were at the time, enemies of the West. Some people's political feelings would never change XD. Also, remember, this was 1997, so Serbia was still officially Yugoslavia then. We'll finally get to Harry in the next chapter. **  
><strong>


	3. The End of an Era

Culture Note: To those who don't know, college in the UK is not the same as a university. It's like an option you have for further education once you turn sixteen in order to get training on a vocational level or to study for A-level exams (which you need for university) if you don't qualify for sixth form. And a boot of a car is what we call a trunk.

Disclaimer: Job classes are from many RPGs, notably the Final Fantasy series. They will make an appearance in this story.

Chapter Three: The End of an Era

The street of Privet Drive was as empty as it has always been at the late hours of the night. No cars drove through there and not a soul roamed the streets because that sort of behavior was frowned upon on Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey. Only one window had light shining from it; the smallest bedroom in Number Four. Its inhabitant was the only one seemingly awake.

Harry Potter sat on his bed gazing around the nearly empty bedroom. He had already packed his trunk and the only things left were the empty owl cage, as Hedwig had gone to the Weasleys the night before and a few recent newspapers strewn around on the floor. On the front page of the earliest copy, was an article bearing the heading: _**Statute of Secrecy Repealed: Ministry and Muggle Government Form Alliance; Scrimgeour Imposes Drastic Reformations in the Ministry; Wizarding Society now Preparing for War**_. Above that was a photograph of two men shaking hands in the House of Commons chamber. One was Rufus Scrimgeour, a shrewd looking man with a mane of tawny hair and wire-rimmed spectacles wearing magenta robes. The other featured the black-suited Prime Minister flashing a toothy grin that seemed to be a trademark for politicians.

_After an emergency meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards in the wake of You-Know-Who's siege of Azkaban in the 5th of June, a decision was made to repeal the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy ratified in 1692. This was due to the alliance formed between You-Know-Who and former Nazi Marshal Reinhard Grindelwald (for Grindelwald's involvement in the Muggle Third Reich, see page 7). In the two weeks following his escape from Azkaban, he has set out on a campaign to build You-Know-Who an army of Muggles and arm them with Atlantian weaponry. Scrimgeour and the Muggle Prime Minister, Conrad Gordon held a meeting of fifty countries to form an alliance against You-Know-Who's forces. A mere three days after the meeting, the Prime Minister had revealed the Wizarding world to Parliament with long-time Ministry employee Arthur Weasley as our representative. The Members of Parliament were shocked and amazed but after the shock had died down, they began discussing ways to introduce our world to the Muggles._

_"We figured the best way for our worlds to learn about each other," says Mr. Weasley, Head of the new Department of Wizarding-Muggle Relations, "is to physically introduce our societies to one another. Over the next few months, Muggle news reporters will be filming for the first time, live reports and documentaries of the Wizarding world and likewise the Daily Prophet will be writing reports about the Muggle world. We are also working on programs to introduce Muggle and Wizarding citizens to each other starting with children." Your reporter has also learned that a draft will be in effect by the first of September. In a brief statement by the Minister of Magic, he informed the _Prophet_ that all able citizens of Wizarding Britain who have finished their Hogwarts education up to the age of twenty-five will be required to serve in the newly reformed Royal Mages. Those who cannot serve as Mages must contribute to the war effort in some way. The Ministry is also sending out letters requesting volunteers to all Hogwarts students above O.W.L. year. The Chief of the General Staff for the Royal Mages will be none other than the last man to hold the title, 157-year-old Field Marshal Sir Daniel Tavington, who was called out of retirement and accepted his position without question. His only comment was that he owed a debt of gratitude to an old friend._

The reformations in the Ministry gave Harry a grim sense of satisfaction. Apparently, as Scrimgeour had stated in a letter of apology to him, he had made the Minister think at Dumbledore's funeral. They were now, as they claimed, moving to create a "government of laws run by the Wizarding community and to expunge all vestiges of pureblood supremacy." Indeed, Harry heard from Ron that Scrimgeour quietly removed employees such as Dolores Umbridge and Cornelius Fudge. In order to protect his own image, he really forced them to retire rather than outright sacking them. People whose ideas conformed to the new way replaced them. He even transferred certain people to other departments, including Mr. Weasley. Percy, in a surprising move, resigned from the Ministry and volunteered his services to the Mages as an infantry officer. He even went as far as to personally appear at the Burrow and apologize to his family. They all accepted him back without question but from what Ron said, Ginny (a sad smile crossed Harry's face thinking about her) punched him in the stomach before hugging and forgiving him.

Thinking about the war, Harry involuntarily thought about the job he had to do. Other than Dumbledore, only he, Ron, and Hermione knew of the Horcruxes and they could have been hidden anywhere in the world. Harry read the recruiting letter again. Training to become a Mage would take ten months, more than enough time for both forces to grow. They would need all the combat training that they could get if they were to go up against the enemy. He just wondered if the Mages would allow them to go searching for Horcruxes.

An older paper lay on the desk next to Hedwig's cage. This was one that Harry had only read once. He could not bear to look at the kind ancient face beneath the article. It was a photograph of Albus Dumbledore taken sometime in the 1970's standing next to a man who had to have been a long time friend of his. He was tall elderly man with blue eyes behind square glasses. His hair was short and his beard neatly trimmed. He wore a military dress uniform consisting of a black jacket with gold lining, along with a shiny black belt and a small bandoleer running from the middle of the belt up to his left shoulder. He also donned black trousers and highly polished black leather boots. Pinned to his shoulders was an insignia indicating his rank.

**_Albus Dumbledore: A Tribute by Field Marshal Sir Daniel I. Tavington, Royal Mages  
><em>**

_For the first time since the death of Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin First Class, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Grand Sorcerer), earlier this month, one of his oldest friends and acquaintances, retired Field Marshal Sir Daniel Tavington, Royal Mages has agreed to give a testimony of their friendship to the _Prophet_._

_"I first met Albus when I was eleven on my first train ride to Hogwarts. He could tell I was nervous. He took me under his wing and we immediately struck a friendship that would last a lifetime. It was good that we had been sorted into Gryffindor because that way, we would not have to wait until classes and breaks to see each other. Believe it or not, we were quite the rebels in our school years. We would prank other students; defy certain teachers, and what not._

_"In our adult years, our friendship grew. We both served in the Royal Mages, joining up right out of school, and we both chose the job class of Warrior. However, there was a difference between us: I have always been a military man but Albus was an idealist who would see war as the absolute last resort. Even so, he and I had served a good ten years together. Britain was in a time of relative peace back when we first joined. We did serve abroad in India and Africa for a while, but there were no problems. In that time, I got married to my long time girlfriend, Katie and Albus was my best man and godfather to my first child, Alexander. Albus was never the type to see himself in a romantic relationship even though he had always firmly believed in the power of love._

_"After his tenth year in the Mages, he left at the rank of Colour Sergeant and began to work in the Department of Mysteries. I'm not at liberty to say what he did there, but his research had amazed many people at the Ministry. After a few years, he returned to Hogwarts to each Transfiguration. Then, the Great War broke out in 1914._

_"I had become a grandfather and all the joy my family, Albus, and I had felt was blown away. In 1873, I had been commissioned an officer and by 1914, I held the rank of Major General. My division was sent to France and there were times Albus had volunteered his service. I need not tell the horrors of what we faced in the war, but this was our first encounter with a German Mage officer named Reinhard Grindelwald. I have never seen such Dark magic like what had come out of his wand. The two of us barely escaped him. By the end of the war, he had become notorious among the Allies._

_"After the war ended, the King knighted me and gave Albus the George Cross. The decades went by and the Wizarding community was unaffected by the Great Depression. Things were relatively peaceful in the twenties. Albus and I would meet whenever he and I had the time, but in 1933, he advised me to keep a close eye on Germany. The new Chancellor, Adolf Hitler had formed a sort of consortium with Reinhard Grindelwald._

_"Both men were freak nationalists with a vision for Germany to become the greatest empire in the world. Behind the scenes, Grindelwald moved all the chess pieces across the board, and it worked...by God, did it work. Germany was becoming a great military presence and it was starting to worry everyone. From what Albus knew, Grindelwald was never a true Nazi, he just needed Hitler for his own ambitions. He had no interest in the Jews or preserving the German "master race" like the rest of Hitler's cronies. Grindelwald was obsessed with Atlantis and why? To this day, I do not know. What was clear to us was that war was coming and it did in 1939._

_"Germany was not the only thing concerning Albus at the time. In Hogwarts, there was a brilliant third year Slytherin boy named Tom Riddle who did not interact with much of the children. He would spend most of his free time in the library studying history and complicated spells. Neither of us could predict what would come of that boy at the time. Albus was too busy with teaching and with the war going on, he had little time to fully observe him._

_"After the Blitz, I was promoted to Field Marshal. It was in North Africa that I had encountered Grindelwald again. We were now equally ranked, but he was a big name in the Third Reich. Thousands of Allied troops fell to his wand. Albus again had volunteered his service and we both faced Grindelwald many times until 1943. He had more than just the war on his mind then, students at Hogwarts were being attacked…petrified by some kind of monster._

_"The war was going in the Allies' favor. All that was left was to free Europe. In June of 1944, we broke through German lines in France and were advancing upon them. By January 1945, Albus and I had faced Grindelwald more than a dozen times. The Germans were making one last desperate attempt to take back what they'd lost but the Allies were breaking through them. We finally got into Germany, leaving the scattered and devastated German war machine behind. Grindelwald was very angry with this and demanded we meet him in Berlin to settle our score once and for all. I readily accepted and so did Albus. Albus may have been a peaceful, gentle person but after so many millions of lives had been lost in this war (it wasn't until later that I had found out about the true extent of the evil that went on there), we had to stop him._

_"We met in the bombed out courtyard of his manor. It was a grueling battle… all three of us were dueling to kill. In the end, we floored Grindelwald. He was at our mercy, but Dumbledore refused to kill an unarmed man. Instead, he tied him up in ropes that blocked his magic and he was sent to Azkaban. Within a few more months, we had won the war. Albus refused to allow Grindelwald to be tried at Nuremberg or allow him to be executed. He had good reason, which I will not divulge. Either way, his defeat of Grindelwald had earned him the Order of Merlin First Class, a seat on the International Confederation of Wizards, and a place in the Wizengamot. In the Muggle world, the new King gave him a second George Cross and me the Victoria Cross._

_"After World War II, the Muggles began with the bollocks Cold War and the European Wizarding community had had just about enough conflict to last us the next few centuries. We modified the memories of literally hundreds of millions of Muggles, the Mages were disbanded, and I retired. I planned on living out the rest of my life in my country home with my wife (God rest her soul). However, I did take a year as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts as a special favor to my friend (who had been named Headmaster in '56). Taught Lily and James Potter in their final year._

_"In 1970, Voldemort and his Death Eaters appeared and it was a war unlike we have ever faced before. This wizard had an unknown amount of followers who would attack at random, place the Imperius Curse on many innocents…need I say more? It was chaos! Nobody knew whom to trust. I have fought in both World Wars and have never faced a wizard of the likes of Voldemort. It was terrifying. In one instance, he had faced Albus and this duel had made the one with Grindelwald seem like a small skirmish. Neither one of them left victorious, but it was clear that Albus had met his match._

_"He worked very hard to try and defeat him. We all know how the first war ended, and I will give young Harry Potter the respect of leaving it at that. God knows he's got enough on his plate right now without being reminded of this. He should, however, know this: Albus had always spoken most highly of young Harry Potter and I hope that if he is reading this, he knows that he was like the son Albus never had…"_

Harry could not read anymore from there. The image of Professor Dumbledore lying there on the Astronomy Tower in pain and weakness as Snape stood over him would be burned into Harry's mind forever. Dumbledore had been so firm in his trust of Snape that he would not hear a word against him. Yet, Snape just went and killed him in cold blood. Dumbledore was weak and unarmed, yet Snape just murdered the man who trusted him with his life. If Harry were to meet Severus Snape again, there would be no holding back.

Turning to glance in the mirror, Harry caught his reflection. Not much had changed about his appearance except that he had grown taller over the past two years. He still had the unruly raven hair and had now resembled his father as he had been at the age of sixteen, save for his mother's green eyes. The difference was that both Harry's parents looked youthful and without a care in the world in their teenage years, whereas his eyes reflected all the tragedy that not even many adult wizards had go through in life. Yet, even with all he had been through, Harry knew that these were only the preliminaries. The main event was to come soon enough. It would all begin the day after tomorrow.

This was no ordinary summer for Harry Potter. In little more than twenty-four hours, he would be leaving the Dursleys forever. With Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, it was the same as always for the most part. They did their best to avoid him. However, Dudley was acting more civil to him ever since he got home. In fact, Dudley had been acting very strange ever since the reveal of the Wizarding world. That was one nasty shock for Uncle Vernon, and even more, the documentary. The memory made Harry smirk.

He had been writing a letter to Ron when his uncle's voice roared, "BOY, IN THE LIVING ROOM NOW!" When he got downstairs, Vernon just grunted purple faced, and pointed at the television. The muscular Dudley and bony Aunt Petunia were seated on the sofa silently watching the news. It took only a few seconds for Harry to find out what was going on. The screen showed the Prime Minister and Rufus Scrimgeour outside Downing Street. The speech was nothing short of awkward. The Prime Minister started off by saying that it has been a difficult year for the world and it was time for the government to tell the people whom this enemy really was. The crowd outside Downing Street looked at him like he had completely lost it.

Scrimgeour proved the existence of magic by transfiguring one camera into a gerbil then back again. At this display, Harry heard Uncle Vernon mumble something about "freaks." The Minister of Magic did not even let this sink in to the Muggles. He went on to explain briefly about the Wizarding world to the best of his abilities and then all about the war, Voldemort, and the new alliance formed with Grindelwald. The Prime Minister ended it off by announcing that Britain was now in a state of war and that military conscription for the Muggles would go into effect by December.

After all that, what did Uncle Vernon have to say? He would now have to deal with awkward questions from the neighbors. Needless to say, much of the neighbors put two and two together when it came to Harry's long absences. The only questions Vernon had to face were why he said his nephew attended a school for criminal boys.

"He may look odd," said Mrs. Number Six, "but I never noticed any violence in him. You could've said he was studying in a regular boarding school." Harry too had to face questions from people on Privet Drive, including Dudley's gang members and most of all, younger children. Aunt Petunia was less vocal than Uncle Vernon about the subject, but Harry could tell that she was just as disgusted. Dudley's reaction on the other hand, came as a surprise.

Dudley had been spending most of his time in his room with the door closed ever since the speech. Most summers, he would be out with his friends until late at night causing trouble in the neighborhood, but now he seldom left his room. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia tried talking to him, but he refused to tell them anything. All would be revealed in a very surprising moment.

It was a day before Dudley's seventeenth birthday when Harry entered the kitchen for breakfast where Aunt Petunia was fussing over the stove. He took a seat at the table with his uncle and cousin and helped himself to a serving of bacon, eggs, and toast. "Wash your hands, boy," grunted Uncle Vernon from behind a newspaper.

"Good morning to you too," Harry replied casually and poured himself a glass of orange juice without having washed his hands. His uncle looked on the verge of saying something, but decided against it. Dudley was nibbling on his food, occasionally looking up like he was going to say something, but remained silent each time.

With the work finished, Aunt Petunia turned to her son. "What are you doing for you birthday tomorrow, Popkin?" Dudley seemed to be waiting for this question. "Going to spend the day with your friends somewhere?"

"Actually, mum," he replied. "I was hoping that we could spend the day in London. All of us. Together."

Uncle Vernon set his newspaper down. "Where would you like to go?"

"To see some of the sites, go to a football game, and then have dinner at this Indian restaurant in Westminster. Malcolm told me about it. He says it's really good." His parents exchanged looks. Even Harry thought that this was odd behavior on Dudley's part.

"Er…is something wrong, Dudders?" Uncle Vernon asked slowly. Dudley shook his head.

"No, it's just…I have something to talk about with you lot there." He turned to Harry who was tuning him out by eating his breakfast. "I want you there too." Harry dropped his fork on the plate.

"Me?" Who was this person and what had he done with Dudley?

"You saved my life two years ago, Harry. Never got the chance to properly thank you for it." Harry had half a mind to go get his wand and see whether this was an imposter or not. If the Death Eaters had not been lying low or had Harry not overheard Aunt Petunia saying that Dudley had been acting different lately, he would have done it right away.

"Wow, did the Dementors somehow breathe a new personality into you?" Dudley simply shrugged. After finishing breakfast, Harry washed his plate and slipped out of the kitchen. Other than the news reports, Harry could only describe life with the Dursleys as a parody of what it once was. The same arguments broke out between Harry and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia was as resentful as ever.

Voldemort may have been focusing on building his forces for an all out war, but the fact remained that Harry Potter was still a marked man and the Dark Lord certainly did not forget about him. Therefore, once Harry turned seventeen, the protection on the Dursleys left by his mother's sacrifice would cease to exist and it would be open season on all of them. The Order of the Phoenix had arranged a house for them in Guildford to move to under a Fidelius Charm with Kingsley Shacklebolt as secret keeper. Fights would break out between Harry and Uncle Vernon over the legitimacy of the danger they were in. He even once accused Harry of a plot to get the house, to which Harry angrily reminded him that he had his own place (not that he saw himself ever setting foot in Grimmauld Place again, let alone living there). It was only when Dudley said he would trust the Order that Uncle Vernon finally conceded.

The next evening, Harry found himself in the back of Uncle Vernon's car next to Dudley driving up the motorway. While in town, it seemed like the whole country had suddenly got itself on a national pride streak with flags outside more than a few homes. This was something that Harry had never seen in his life, he only heard about it in the US or Canada. "It's like the war's already started," Aunt Petunia commented and Harry shook his head derisively.

Finally, they arrived in London. Dudley had them tour more than one historical site, and Harry, who had never seen Dudley interested in anything educational, was in awe. This was so out of character for him that he knew something was amiss here. In the Tower of London, Aunt Petunia tried to coax into telling them what was on his mind, but he didn't budge.

Harry would have enjoyed the football game if he had been with anyone but the Dursleys. Dudley was into the game, cheering on his team and cursing their opponents. Uncle Vernon joined in the cheering but made sure to send suspicious glares at His nephew. Overall, it had nothing on a Quidditch game, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.

Finally, they arrived at the Indian buffet. Once everyone was settled with food, Dudley began to speak. "Mum, Dad, Harry, I've got to tell you something." He drew in a breath and not for the first time, Harry wondered what was so important that Dudley insisted that he be there. "I'm not going to college next year."

Uncle Vernon almost choked on his food and Aunt Petunia's jaw dropped. "Why the ruddy hell not?" Uncle Vernon asked trying to keep his voice low. Harry wondered why it was so important that he would be there just to hear of Dudley's future educational plans. It was not any secret that he would finish secondary school without any real qualifications. However, Dudley's explanation was the last one that Harry expected to hear.

"I'm joining the Marines."

Harry spoke before the Dursleys could think of an answer. "Alright, who are you and what have you done with Dudley?" Dudley actually doing something not for personal gain let alone putting his life on the line? This was too much to take in.

"This ain't a joke," he stated. "I mean it. I'm joining the Marines."

Finally, Aunt Petunia found her voice. "But why?" Dudley rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, mum, have you two been _listening_ to the news? This war's coming to us and I'd like to volunteer before the draft comes."

Uncle Vernon, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, had finally found his voice. "What is this rubbish?" he spoke through gritted teeth. Harry knew that reaction all too well. He had to endure it for sixteen years and this was the first time he had ever seen it directed at someone other than himself.

"I've been talking to a recruiter ever since Gordon revealed the Wizarding world." He then narrowed his eyes. "All my friends are joining the military too. I'm not just going to sit in a classroom when everyone else is fighting."

"We...we..." Uncle Vernon spluttered.

"We'll talk about this when we get home, Popkin."

"I've already invited him to our new house a week after we get settled in," said Dudley. "Just talk to him, guys."

* * *

><p>Breakfast the next day was a quiet one. No comments from Uncle Vernon about Harry's appearance or abnormal behavior, no Aunt Petunia gossiping about the neighbors, it was the most awkward Harry had ever felt in his entire time living in Number Four Privet Drive. What would he say to them once the Order would come to collect him? What does one say to somebody after sixteen years of hatred?<p>

The only sounds other than the light clanging of silverware on plates came from the telly where a sitcom was playing. The four of them were deliberately avoiding eye contact with each other and saying anything. Helping himself to another serving of sausages, Harry wondered if he would ever lay eyes on the Dursleys again after leaving today. Soon there was a knock on the door.

"Must be them, Vernon," said Petunia rising from her chair. Vernon rounded on Harry.

"There will be no nonsense this time, boy." Harry raised his eyebrows making his uncle add, "Please." With that, he got up to answer the door.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Dursley," came the smooth mellow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry arose from his chair, made his way to the entrance hall, and saw the Auror in a neatly pressed black business suit. Muggles passing by in the street would easily mistake him for an accountant. "My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt," he said, extending his right hand. Despite his attire, Uncle Vernon didn't shake his hand.

"Aren't you supposed to be protecting Gordon?"

"He can go one day without me. Ah, there's Harry." Kingsley allowed himself into the house closing the door, and strode over to Harry who drew his wand, aiming it at the older man. Kingsley did the same and both wizards locked gazes.

"The night the DA was discovered…who was in the room with us when Dumbledore escaped?"

"Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Cornelius Fudge, Dolores Umbridge, John Dawlish, and Marietta Edgecombe." Kingsley kept his wand aimed at Harry's forehead. "But I could be a Death Eater who killed Kingsley Shacklebolt and have extracted this information out of any of the people I mentioned. You need to be more creative with your security questions, Potter."

"Oh, right..." Harry agreed quietly and lowered his wand. Kingsley, however, kept his wand aimed at his forehead.

"What was the last Christmas present Sirius Black gave Harry Potter?"

With a pang in his heart, he answered, "A two way mirror that he used to contact my dad when they had separate detentions."

"COULD YOU PUT THOSE THINGS AWAY?" Harry and Kingsley turned to Uncle Vernon, pocketing their wands.

"My apologies, Mr. Dursley, it was a necessary precaution." He turned back to Harry. "Got all your stuff packed?"

"Yeah, it's in the living room."

"Right, before we go, I'd like to speak to your relatives, so you just bring your things to the car."

"I'll help," Dudley called from the kitchen and made his way to the entrance. There was no sign of Aunt Petunia but Harry expected this. Instead, he smiled weakly at his large cousin, following him to the living room.

A black car waited on the street as Harry and Dudley hauled out the heavy trunk. "You're going after him, aren't you?" Dudley asked. "The one who killed your parents?" Was that concern in his voice? This was so weird.

"Yeah, I am." Nothing else was said. Harry guessed that Dudley was just as uncomfortable as he was. They both placed the trunk and Hedwig's empty cage in the boot. After shutting the door, both teenagers stood by the front passenger door.

After looking at each other for a few seconds, Dudley offered Harry his right hand. "See you 'round, then?"

Yeah, I guess," Harry replied, shaking his hand. With that, Dudley turned and made his way back to the house stopping to look back only for a brief second. Shaking his head, Harry got in the car and waited. All too soon, Kingsley arrived.

"Ready, Harry?"

"For the last sixteen years," Harry answered dryly, earning a chuckle from the older man. After igniting the engine, he announced, "We're going to the Weasleys'. Dedalus Diggle and Tonks will be collecting the Dursleys." Harry nodded, taking one last look at Number Four. Then Kingsley drove off, leaving behind Privet Drive, Little Whinging, and Surrey County for what would likely be the last time in Harry's life.

A/N: Well, that took forever. I wanted to make the final day with the Dursleys nothing short of awkward. No hostilities, not sympathetic Aunt Petunia. But I did like how in DH, Dudley was grateful to Harry. We'll be seeing Dudley again soon enough. Until next chapter, Lionheart out.


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